”Lovelace” raises more questions than answers in exploring the life of “Deep Throat” star Linda Lovelace.

Linda Lovelace, celebrated in the early 1970s as a symbol of sexual liberation as the star of “Deep Throat’’ — the first porn film to cross over into mainstream consciousness (if not theaters) — has long been one of the most fascinating, if inscrutable, characters in pop culture history.

That’s because she drastically rewrote the narrative in the third of her four autobiographies, portraying herself as the victim of repeated domestic abuse, and worse, at the hands of her sleazy manager/ boyfriend Chuck Traynor — who dictated the first two upbeat books.

Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman’s “Lovelace’’ tries to bridge this dichotomy by first presenting an entertainingly campy account of Lovelace’s unlikely rise as a porn superstar by largely sticking to Traynor’s version. Then it goes back, “Rashomon’’-style, to fill in the gaps as an older and wiser middle-aged Lovelace — by then a married mother — dictates a harrowing memoir.

Linda Lovelace (Amanda Seyfried) became a household name after starring in the adult film “Deepthroat” in the 1970s. (
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It’s a bold but ultimately unsatisfying strategy in this case, because the superficial script doesn’t go nearly deep enough to begin explaining Lovelace.

Amanda Seyfried — far prettier and sexier than the genuine article — gives a brave and often effective performance as the woman who was born Linda Boreman in the Bronx. As a teenager, she moved to Florida with her family and was “rescued’’ from her ultra-strict mother (an unrecognizable Sharon Stone) and apathetic dad (Robert Patrick) by Traynor (Peter Saarsgard, far better here than in “Blue Jasmine’’), a charming hustler who was running a local bar.

Traynor discovers his new girlfriend has an uncanny gift for fellatio, and he shows some 16mm home movies to a pair of skeptical (because Boreman is hardly built like a porn star) professional New York pornmeisters, amusingly played by Bobby Canavale and Hank Azzaria.

They’re transfixed by her potential. Before you know it, the renamed Linda Lovelace is back in Florida shooting “Deep Throat,’’ a terrible hour-long comedy about a woman whose clitoris is her throat — I saw it during one of the producers’ pornography trials in 1974 — opposite Harry Reems (Adam Brody), a gofer who got the job when the originally cast actor didn’t show up.

Bankrolled by underworld figure Anthony Romano (Chris Noth) — whose associates get very rich distributing the film — “Deep Throat’’ racks up an astounding $60 million in grosses, becoming such a cultural touchstone that it became a punchline for Johnny Carson’s monologues.

Cocaine-dusted Linda is lionized by Hugh Hefner (James Franco) and his Hollywood cronies. There’s little hint of a dark side to her fame except for bruises on her legs that need to be covered by makeup — and the loud noises emanating from her hotel room, which the “Deep Throat’’ crew assume is particularly lusty lovemaking with Chuck.

We learn in short order that Traynor is not only beating Linda regularly, but screwing her out of money — as well as pimping our increasingly terrified heroine out to star-struck investors, other assorted johns and any other guy with a big wad of cash.

Even when Beverly Hills cops come upon Traynor attacking her in the street, once she’s recognized, they merely apologize and ask for Linda’s autograph. She eventually escapes, finds religion, and tells her story to Phil Donahue (with Seyfried electronically edited into old TV footage).

“Lovelace’’ is not an uninteresting movie, and the performances aren’t bad at all. But it ends up raising more questions than it answers.